


fists full of glitter

by marigolds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fairy!Louis, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Content, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marigolds/pseuds/marigolds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is where he met Harry, and where Harry hadn’t yet met him. Or, Louis is a fairy and he and Harry really like each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fists full of glitter

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [this prompt](http://1dkinkmeme.livejournal.com/8532.html?thread=9871700#t9871700) at the kink meme. Also: Louis is not, like, a normal-sized fairy? He's pretty much the same size as a human twelve-year-old boy, because I couldn't imagine this working any other way. I really don't know what I'm doing, so I apologize in advance if this sucks. Also posted [here](http://theblueyonder.livejournal.com/4150.html).

.  
.

have you ever wished for an endless night?  
lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight?  
have you ever held your breath and asked yourself:  
will it ever get better than tonight? 

“glitter in the air” by pink

.  
.

It is a warm, summer’s night. The skies are clear and studded with stars, glistening above where a small boy tiptoes through the brush, feet barely touching the ground in order to stay quiet. His skin glows under the moonlight, tiny wings peaking from his green tunic, and he is innocent and lovely in a way that only creatures in fairytales can be. That is to say, this is no normal little boy - this boy is full of fairy dust, of hope and glitter that shines like gold, of a heart that beats for adventure. He is full of shimmering blood vessels and butterflies and goodness, and is a beautiful little thing, impish and mischievous and bewitching in every sense of the word.

His name is Louis and he is a mere twelve years old, his wings barely big enough for him to lift from the ground and his hair full of flowers. He is sneaking away from his home in the forest, tonight, because he’s frightened; even on clear nights, there isn’t enough light in the woods, the trees stretching tall and blocking the gleam of the moon and stars. On nights like these, when he cannot sleep, he tiptoes into the flower fields and wraps himself in the petals until he feels safe enough to drift away into a dream.

That, of course, was before he found the cottage in the valley below, lonely but radiating warmth and a sense of belonging that only a home can give. Louis had inched forward the first night he’d seen it, blue eyes wide with wonder, and had stood on his tiptoes to peer through the uncovered window, investigating the inside. The cabin was clearly lived-in, neat aside from a few misplaced books and dishes, and before Louis could think about what he was doing he had fluttered his wings, opened the window, and slipped inside without a sound.

This is where he met Harry, and where Harry hadn’t yet met him.

Louis had crept through the house as silently as he could, careful not to touch anything lest he leave a mark, and found his way into the boy’s room. Louis had been flabbergasted at first; despite sneaking into someone’s home in the dead of night, he hadn’t actually expected anyone to _be_ there. He had panicked, scuttling out of the room and back into the hall. However, little boys were naturally curious and Louis was no different, so he had ended up poking his head back into the room, watching the boy’s chest rise up and down with his breathing. Upon scanning the room for a clue, he found a name - Harry - pasted to the wooden walls in blue lettering.

Quietly, Louis padded closer, so lightly he never made a sound, and peered over the boy’s sleeping body, blinking curiously at his curly hair, his naked torso, pale in the moonlight. His window, Louis realized, was open, leaving the room sticky and warm with summer air. Harry had shifted in his sleep and Louis remembers ducking down next to the bed, his body trembling with fear, heart pounding against his ribs. Had he seen him? What would happen if he did? Slowly, Louis stood once more, holding his breath as he slipped into the bed with Harry, aching to see if he was as soft and warm as he seemed.

Louis hadn’t intended to stay; he had just wanted to sit for a moment, get a closer look at this human, a creature he’d never seen before, but he ended up slipping into a dreamless sleep. When he had awoken, just before the sun came up, he was curled into Harry’s side, tucked under his arm. Surprised and scared, Louis slipped away and through the window before he woke up to find him there.

Louis didn’t plan on returning afterwards, but he had almost every night since, too scared to sleep in the woods alone when he could go to Harry, who was comfortable and safe and _close_. Louis found that he didn’t want to sleep by himself in the forest, surrounded by a constant thrum of noise, when Harry’s cabin was so quiet, so peaceful and calming. When Harry himself felt like a _home_.

Louis is headed there, tonight, too, passing through the field of wildflowers and slipping down the slope of the valley to wander to the cottage. The lights are off, indicating that its resident is asleep, and Louis sneaks around the side and slips into Harry’s open window, wiggling a bit just before he lands with a small _thump_ on the floor. Louis pauses for a moment, ensuring that Harry hasn’t woken up, but isn’t worried; Harry sleeps soundly, always, dead to the world. Once he deems it safe, Louis tiptoes to the bed and slides under Harry’s blanket, snuggling up to the older boy with a smug smile, letting his eyes drift closed.

*

Louis is jostled awake by the bed shifting.

It takes his sleepy brain a moment to realize that this means something is wrong.

Louis’ eyes snap open and he nearly topples backwards when he sees green staring right back at him, wide with shock. Louis lets a frightened sound escape his mouth and he scrambles to get out of the bed, backing himself up against the wall underneath the window. Glitter falls from his glowing body, lands in shining pools at his feet and in pathways to where he sits, and Harry stares, jaw slackened, at Louis’ shaking form.

“Don’t hurt me,” Louis says, voice small and close to breaking, “I’m sorry, please - please don’t be mad,” he begs, eyes wide and fearful, tears brimming there and threatening to spill.

Harry seems to shake himself out of whatever stupor he’s in, rolling out of bed on the opposite side and holding his hands up cautiously. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he responds, voice rumbling and hoarse with sleep, “I just - where did you come from?” He asks, laughing a little hysterically, breathlessly.

“I, uh,” Louis stammers, swallowing, “I crawled through the window?”

“You - what?” Harry breathes, clearly frazzled. His gaze dances from Louis to the open window, realization dawning on his features, “That window,” he says dumbly, blinking a few times and shaking his head as though trying to clear it. He fixes Louis with his stare once more. “I - I don’t understand,” he finally says, running long fingers through the tuft of curls on his head. Louis sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, trying not to cry. “Why are you here?”

“I - I just,” Louis says, but has to stop himself, for his voice is strained and he can’t seem to get the words out, “I get scared,” he finally manages, searching Harry’s face for anger, or some emotion other than confusion or shock.

“Scared?” Harry repeats slowly, as though trying to make sense of it in his own head. He takes a very careful step forward, gauges Louis’ reaction, and then takes a few more and crouches down so he’s closer, could almost touch Louis if he’d stretched his arm out all the way. “Of what?” He asks, cocking his head.

“The dark,” Louis answers quietly, watching Harry’s expression soften. “I - I live in the forest,” Louis tells him in a whisper, “But it’s quiet, here and - and I feel safe with you,” Louis says, trying to will himself to stop shaking, seeing as it’s coating the floor fairy dust and making a mess that Harry will have to clean up.

“Oh,” Harry says softly, shuffling forward but stopping when Louis pushes himself back against the wall, fearful, “It’s okay,” Harry whispers, keeping his gaze trained on Louis’, “It’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He lifts his lips at the corners, offering Louis a kind smile. Louis’ eyes flicker from Harry’s hand and then back to his face, nervous and frightened but wanting to touch Harry all the same. “What’s your name?” Harry asks quietly, hand still outstretched.

“Louis,” the boy responds quietly, keeping his own hands tucked around his waist.

“I’m Harry,” Harry says, then adds, “I’m really not gonna hurt you. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Louis looks at him warily, swallowing thickly, and Harry continues, “Would you please give me your hand? So we can sort this out, yeah?” His voice is calm, posture and expression friendly. Louis eventually reaches for him, tentatively clasping the ends of Harry’s lithe fingers in his tiny hand. Harry gives him an encouraging smile and helps him to his feet, leading him to sit down on the bed. Harry, himself, drops to a crouch in front of him, giving Louis enough space to feel comfortable, but Louis keeps Harry’s fingers clutched firmly in his hand, afraid to let him go. He allows it to rest on his knees as Harry thinks about what to say.

“Am I in trouble?” Louis asks worriedly, “I didn’t mean to - to - ”

“You’re not in trouble,” Harry says, cutting him off, “Why would you be?”

“I - I snuck in,” Louis whispers, as though it’s still a secret, “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have.”

“Stop apologizing,” Harry says, running a thumb up Louis’ palm, “I’m not angry with you. I just - I was a bit shocked,” he explains, his smile careful, “You’re not from here, are you? You’re not, uh, like me.”

Louis swallows, slowly shaking his head. Harry breathes out slowly. “You’re - a sprite,” he guesses.

“Fairy,” Louis responds, attempting a smile, “You were close,” he grants, “but sprites don’t have wings.”

“Right,” Harry breathes, clearly trying to keep himself in check, “Right, of course. Sprites don’t have wings.” He laughs, a little beside himself, and nods quickly. “You said - you live in the woods? The ones up the hill?”

“Yes,” Louis says.

“We should, uh,” he takes a breath, “we should get you back. Your - everyone must be worried,” Harry says, quieting when Louis shakes his head, sandy hair flopping this way and that.

“I don’t really, er. Have anyone to worry,” Louis says, voice small, “I - I’d feel safer here. With you.” He speaks so quietly that Harry seems to be straining to hear him. “If that’s alright?” He adds self-consciously, worried that Harry will send him away.

Harry drops his gaze to the floor, letting out a deep sigh before answering. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘course you can stay.” He lifts his eyes to meet Louis’ and gives him a tired smile. “You’re - you’re very bright,” he says suddenly, chuckling to himself. Louis feels his cheeks flush, and he squirms away from Harry to settle back on the bed, finally letting Harry’s fingers slip away from his.

“‘m sleepy,” he says, waiting for Harry to get in the bed with him and tensing when he doesn’t, “Um - Harry?” He asks turning over to look at him. Harry hums in response, walking towards one of the doors and opening it to reveal a closet. He stands on his toes and takes a few spare blankets from the top shelf, clutching them to his chest. “Are you...going to get in?”

Harry stops in his movements, turning to stare at Louis. “I, uh - I was just going to sleep on the floor? Since you’ve got the bed, it seems.” He smiles reassuringly, but Louis still feels out of place, twiddling his thumbs.

“Oh,” he murmurs, turning onto his side, away from Harry’s watchful gaze.

“Did you...want me, um. With you, instead?” Harry asks. Louis perks up, tilting his head so he can see Harry in his peripherals.

“Please?” Louis tries, and Harry releases a deep breath. Louis hears the blankets drop to the floor and then the bed dips when Harry slips in beside him, carefully keeping his distance. Louis doesn’t think; he merely scoots over until he’s curled into Harry’s side, tucking his head under Harry’s arm and letting a breath out through his nose. He feels Harry tense under him but he eventually relaxes when Louis doesn’t move, wrapping his arm around Louis’ slender waist.

They fall asleep like this, cuddled together, and when Louis wakes up before the sun rises, he merely curls tighter into Harry’s sleeping form.

*

“Louis,” a voice says from far away. Louis wrinkles his nose, squeezes his eyes shut tighter and burrows into the blanket, earning an easy laugh. “Hey, get up. I’ve got to wee and you won’t let go.” Louis grumbles under his breath and allows Harry to extract himself from Louis’ grip. He listens to Harry pad his way across the room and down the hallway; Louis shifts under the blankets, rolling onto his back and stretching his limbs out, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It’s been a while since he’s slept so heavily, or for so _long_. He feels nice, all warm and fuzzy, his heart expanding with it.

Louis blinks a few times, trying to wake himself up, and can _feel_ the glow radiating from his skin, shimmering in the morning sun. Louis isn’t used to this; the trees in the forest block out most of the sunlight, so it is rare to see his own skin look so _golden_ and pretty. He likes it and he hopes Harry does, too.

“Oh, I leave for two minutes and you’ve already taken the whole bed,” Harry’s voice says from the doorway. Louis peeks at him from under his fringe and can’t help but giggle, cheeks flushing with happiness at Harry’s soft expression.

“Your bed’s comfy,” Louis responds casually, stretching his arms and legs even further over the mattress, perhaps only to be a nuisance.

“Really?” Harry asks, humoring him, “That’s interesting, since you spent most of the night sleeping on me,” he says, cocking a brow. Louis pouts.

“You’re comfy, too,” he replies, “Lots of things are comfy,” he adds, as though that will explain everything. Harry grants him a rumbling chuckle, one that Louis guesses might reverberate in his strong chest. He watches as Harry takes a few steps forward, sitting down at the edge of the mattress and looking at Louis curiously. Louis tries not to preen under his gaze, but it’s hard with the way Harry is looking at him, like he’s something magical.

Well, to be fair, he _is_ something magical, but that isn’t the point.

“You’re very pretty,” Harry finally murmurs, gaze flickering to meet Louis’ for a long moment. Louis feels his own breath catch in his throat as Harry ghosts his fingers over one of his arms, tracing patterns along the veins beneath his skin.

“Yeah?” Louis asks breathlessly, gazing up at Harry through his eyelashes.

Harry seems to grab hold of himself then, pulling his hand back to rest on his lap. He averts his gaze and slowly nods, but Louis can tell that something is off. “Louis...how old are you?” He asks after a hesitation, turning to meet Louis’ eyes once more. Louis wiggles into a sitting position, drawing his knees to his chest.

“Twelve,” Louis answers quietly, blue eyes trained on Harry’s face.

“Twelve,” Harry repeats slowly. He takes a lingering breath. “Yeah, alright. I’m seventeen. Eighteen in a few months.” He gives Louis a meaningful look, but Louis can’t seem to grasp why his voice sounds so weighted.

Louis merely smiles at him, albeit uncertainly, and says, “You’re nearly an adult in human years.”

“Yeah,” Harry says warily, keeping his face neutral, “Um, are you - are you staying?” He asks.

Louis immediately perks up, eyes brightening. “You’ll let me?” He asks, his wings fluttering, spreading fairy dust along the sheets. Harry looks like a deer caught at gunpoint and Louis immediately wilts, dropping his chin to his knees, “I mean - I wasn’t planning to,” he says, suddenly feeling very small. He tries not to meet Harry’s gaze, even when Harry ruffles Louis’ hair, friendly.

“I’m not telling you to go,” Harry eventually tells him, “I like you. I think you’re very - unique.” Louis lifts his chin, waiting for Harry to continue. “It’s just. No one is going to worry about you?”

Louis ponders this for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, “I dunno. Maybe Niall would, but he’s only around when there’s a rainbow.”

Harry fixes him with a hard stare, brows furrowed. “You don’t have any other friends?” He asks carefully, cognizant of Louis’ feelings. Louis presses his lips together, shaking his head once. “You don’t have any family or, or anything?”

“No,” Louis answers, “I live by myself.” Harry frowns, but Louis quickly adds, “I’m not sad! It’s normal for us to get separated. We’ll meet again,” he says confidently, smiling up at Harry, “So you don’t have to be sad, either. It’s okay. Really.” Louis pauses. “You live by yourself, too, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but - ”

“Then we’re the same,” Louis says softly, eyes crinkling with his small grin. Harry slowly returns the gesture, the ends of his lips quirking upwards until the contentment settles in his eyes.

“Alright, then,” he agrees, reaching forward and pushing hair away from Louis’ face, “How about some breakfast?”

*

Louis stays with Harry for a few days, learning about him. As it turns out, he’s living here for the summer so he can work on a novel, and he spends many of his hours at his typewriter, clicking away at the keys while Louis curls up on the sofa with a cup of tea and watches him, enamored with the sound it makes when his fingers hit the keys.

Sometimes, when Louis is really lucky and Harry is having a good day, he’ll read Louis a page or two when he’s finished them, slow voice coiling around the words on the paper, telling story after story of a character named Jack, who gets into all sorts of trouble with his problematic ways. Louis likes the stories of Jack, but he wants Harry to tell stories about himself, so Louis can understand him better.

He’s been unbelievably kind to Louis during these days, chuckling kindheartedly when Louis cuddles with him on the sofa or in bed, rolling his eyes fondly when Louis makes a mess and Harry has to clean it up. Once or sometimes twice a day, Harry will pull out the broom from the cupboard and sweep up the paths of fairy dust Louis leaves in his wake when he gets excited or scared, chastising Louis with a goodnatured grin and always threatening to make Louis clean up after himself next time even if he never means it. Louis doesn’t know anything about Harry other than a few tidbits, though; knows he writes letters to his mum sometimes instead of typing out a story, knows that for all of his patience that he sometimes needs a few minutes in solitude, knows that his kindness can wear him down.

Louis does his best to stay quiet and out of his way, but Louis is notoriously mischievous, lively in a way that only a child can be. He makes messes and flutters about in the gardens in Harry’s backyard and sometimes tromps mud and dirt onto the floors that Harry has just swept. He’s clingy and sometimes loud and occasionally insatiable, needing attention on him in any way possible, whether it be because he’s adorable or annoying. He can tell sometimes that Harry _really_ just wants him out of his hair for a bit, but Louis doesn’t like Harry to be out of his sight for a single moment, doesn’t like remembering that he has a life outside of Louis when Louis depends on Harry for _everything_ now.

After around two weeks, Harry becomes distant with him, even goes as far as leaving the bed in the middle of the night for Louis to find him asleep on the sofa in the morning, complaining of a crick in his neck when he awakens. He’s still lovely, still makes them breakfast and ruffles Louis’ hair, but when Louis tries to touch Harry’s hand or fiddle with a curl Harry brushes him off, telling him he needs to do something else, whether it be writing or cleaning or reading or _whatever_. Louis doesn’t understand, and becomes a bit naughtier in order to keep Harry’s attention on him.

He breaks a dish that he’s supposed to be putting in the sink and idles by as Harry cleans it up, occasionally glancing up at Louis to remind him that he isn’t angry with him. When Harry throws the ceramic in the trash, Louis clings to his legs, apologizing as a ruse to get Harry to cuddle, which he does. Louis begins pestering him while he’s working, tugging on his shirt and his pant legs until Harry heaves a heavy sigh and asks what he wants. Once, to get Harry’s attention, he reaches up while Harry is typing and presses a few keys at random, causing Harry to sputter out a curse word (that he apologizes for later) and grab Louis’ wrist, yanking it away from the keyboard. The reaction was a bit much for Louis, who actually started to genuinely cry, and Harry blew his curls away from his face and lifted him into his arms, murmuring apologies for frightening him. Louis doesn’t dare get in the way of his work again, even if he’d enjoyed being held for a while, because that was the only time Harry had honestly scared him.

By the time the third week draws to a close, Louis is starting to feel as though Harry doesn’t _ever_ want him around. He still smiles and plays around with him when he’s got the time, but he tries not to sleep in the same bed anymore and doesn’t cuddle or - _touch_ Louis at all, really, rarely even ruffles his fringe anymore. Eventually, Louis shuts down, leaves Harry alone until Harry seeks him out just to make sure Harry doesn’t hate him, to make sure Harry still wants his company.

Louis only gets through about a day of this before he’s antsy and squirmy, craving attention and affection. He wanders into the kitchen, where Harry is typing away steadfastly on his typewriter, and sidles up to Harry, reaching up and gripping the bottom of his shirt with his tiny hands. Harry pauses for a moment, turning to give Louis a smile, and then is back to writing, engrossed in it.

“Harry,” Louis tries, voice soft, “Harry, can you make lunch?”

“Mm, in a minute,” Harry responds distractedly, pausing in his typing to reread something. Louis watches him grimace and press the backspace key, two or three words getting whited out.

“Harry,” Louis tries again, a bit whinier, “‘m hungry.”

“Just a minute,” Harry says, subconsciously reaching to run his fingers through Louis’ fringe. The contact is nice, but not the attention that Louis is looking for, so he ducks away, pout planted firmly on his lips. Harry glances at him and then furrows his brows, apparently bemused and perhaps mildly offended. “I’m busy,” Harry tells him sternly, “I’ll make lunch in a few minutes, just _wait_.”

Louis’ pout turns into a frown. He stomps his foot, glitter drifting from his wings and landing in a small pile on the floor. “I don’t _want_ to wait,” he says petulantly, “I’ve _been_ waiting.”

Harry sucks in a deep breath, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, and lets out a sigh, his whole body moving with it. He swallows thickly, then fixes Louis with a steady look, hands clasped together in front of his face. “Stop acting like this. If you’re hungry, go get a snack from the cabinets. There’s some pretzels, or fruit - ”

“I don’t _want_ that!” Louis cries, voice rising, “I want - ”

“I don’t _care_ what you want!” Harry snaps, cutting Louis off, “ _Jesus_ , Louis, stop being a brat! Go sit down! I’ll make lunch when I’m ready,” Harry says, voice lowering in volume towards the end.

Louis blinks furiously, his lower lip trembling as he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. His stomach is twisting painfully and his heart is aching all of the sudden, beating hard and fast against his ribs. He frantically wipes at his eyes with his hand, but can’t stop the whimper that leaves his lips as he starts to cry. He hears Harry exhale a huge breath, his chair scooting backwards.

“Lou,” he says softly. Louis hides his face in his hands, embarrassed and angry and just - _upset_. Harry really doesn’t like him anymore. He doesn’t want him around and he certainly wouldn’t care if Louis went back to the forest and stayed there. “Louis, c’mon, love. I’m - I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Yes, you _did_ ,” Louis says childishly, hiccuping, “You don’t like me anymore and you don’t want to play with me and - and you _hate_ me,” he whimpers, sniffling.

“That’s not true,” Harry says vehemently, touching Louis’ shoulder. Louis gasps, jerking away from him and staring him down with his red-rimmed eyes.

“Yes it _is_!” He cries, tears slipping down his cheeks, “You don’t cuddle with me anymore and you don’t ruffle my hair and you don’t let me touch you or _anything_ ,” he wails, too upset to care how silly it all sounds, “You just - you just sit at your dumb typewriter and write dumb stories! You don’t care about me! Even when I do something nice you don’t care!”

Harry stares at him, dumbfounded, slowly catching up with everything Louis has said. “Is that - why you’ve been acting up? To get my attention?” He asks, hand outstretched towards Louis’ shaking form, “Louis, you don’t have to act up to get me to pay attention to you.”

“I do!” Louis cries, balling his fists at his sides, “You don’t ever pay attention to me when I want it! You ignore me, and you only cuddle when you feel bad about getting mad at me! I don’t - I just - _Harry_ ,” Louis says desperately, scrubbing at his eyes, trying to stop crying. He loses his breath when he’s yanked forward into Harry’s arms, nose pressed right into Harry’s collarbone in a crushing hug.

“I’m sorry,” Harry breathes into his fringe, pressing a kiss there, “I’m so, so, sorry, Louis. It isn’t that I don’t want - it’s not like I don’t want you around,” he says, his own voice sounding a little desperate, too, “It’s just, like - I feel like I want that _too_ much. And you’re just a kid and I’m - I’m _so_ sorry,” Harry tells him, burying his face into Louis’ hair, breathing slowly as though trying to settle himself.

Louis swallows, pulling back to look Harry in the eyes, “What - what do you _mean_?” He asks, blue eyes wide and innocent, eyelashes dusted with stray tears. Harry hesitates, staring back him and shaking his head like he isn’t even aware he’s doing it.

“I don’t know,” he answers slowly, “God,” he says, squeezing his eyes closed, “You’re a _kid_ ,” he repeats, “You’re just a kid and you’re so _pretty_ I don’t know what to do with myself.” Harry looks a little at war with himself, and Louis reaches up to brush his fingertips under Harry’s eyes, catching imaginary drops of water. Harry takes his wrist lightly in his hand, carefully pulling it away, never breaking Louis’ gaze. Eventually he lets go, and Louis dumbly drops it back to his side, staring at Harry, Harry who is the loveliest person he’s ever seen, Harry with his pretty green eyes and pink lips and big hands and - and - “Fuck,” Harry breathes, surging forward and capturing Louis’ lips in an electric kiss, one that sends sparks up and down his spine, makes his wings flutter wildly, until fairy dust is swirling around their bodies, catching in their hair and clothes and skin.

Harry pulls back as abruptly as he’d come forward, eyes wide, hand coming up to cover his mouth. He looks wild, hair shining with specks of glitter and his cheeks flushed red. Louis imagines he looks much the same, and takes a shaking breath to steady his quivering heart.

“It’s okay,” Louis finally says, haltingly, like his voice may send Harry away, “Don’t be sad,” he begs, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as Harry stands on shaky legs and lets out a humorless laugh. Louis stares up at him worriedly, almost bursting into sobs when Harry avoids his grappling hands and disappears down the hallway. “ _Harry_!” He pleads, just before he hears the door shut.

*

Louis doesn’t know what to do. He stays perfectly still for a long moment, until he’s cried all he can cry and then some, and then numbly drops onto the sofa, curling in on himself. He must’ve fallen asleep, for when he awakens, the sun has disappeared over the hilltop and his stomach is grumbling, begging for food. He stands up shakily and wanders down the hallway, pausing at Harry’s door before taking a steadying breath and knocking once, twice, in quick succession.

He hears shuffling from within the room, and his heart nearly sinks in terror when there are footsteps approaching the door. Louis wants to run and hide, but doesn’t have time before Harry pulls the door open and towers over him, staring down at him like he can’t quite believe he’s there. Louis swallows uncomfortably, suddenly obtusely aware of the differences in height, but holds his own.

“Um,” he murmurs, “Can - can you make something to eat?”

Harry seems taken aback for a split-second, but then he’s nodding, nudging past Louis to get to the kitchen.

Harry makes pancakes for dinner, perhaps because they’re Louis’ favorite food, but more than likely because they’re easy. Louis sets the table for two and slides into his seat to wait, elbows propped up next to his placemat. Harry drops a few pancakes onto the plate and hands him a bottle of syrup, which Louis accepts gratefully and pours over his food.

Harry, Louis notices, doesn’t eat much. He mostly picks at his food and gazes at Louis, mind somewhere else. Louis is so hungry that he finishes all of his and then runs his fingers through the leftover syrup on his plate, getting his hands sticky. He catches Harry smiling at him briefly as he does so, so he guesses Harry’s alright even if he’s being quiet.

“Louis,” Harry finally says after Louis stops playing in his food. Louis glances up and Harry stands up from his chair, heading towards the sink and turning on the water. “C’mere, let’s get you cleaned up.” He nods his head and Louis hops from his chair and goes to Harry, who wets a towel and runs it over Louis’ sticky palms and mouth. “Better?” He asks when Louis is cleaned, earning a small nod. Harry’s expression shifts, then, into something more serious. “We have to talk about - ” Harry cuts himself off, sucks in a gulp of air, “The kiss,” he finally manages, barely able to get it out of his mouth.

“I - ” Louis starts, but is silenced by Harry holding up his hand.

“I shouldn’t have done that, Lou. You do realize that,” he says, fixing him with a meaningful look, “In our world, that’s not - it isn’t right. And I’m sorry for putting you in that situation, but I - ” he sighs, “I didn’t have a right to do that, and I know there isn’t an excuse for why I did, I just. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m really sorry.”

“But I - ” Louis splutters, searching Harry’s face, “I’m not mad,” Louis insists, “I _liked_ it.”

Harry lets out a breathless laugh, “It doesn’t,” he starts, shaking his head, “It doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t have done it. It’s not - it’s not _okay_ for me to do that.”

“Why?” Louis asks, frowning.

Harry sighs, shoulders drooping, “It just _isn’t_ ,” he answers, “Look, we should just. Not ignore it, but make sure it doesn’t happen again. I can’t do that to you.”

“But _why_?” Louis asks again, pressing.

“Louis, please,” Harry begs, “Please, just listen to me. I can’t kiss you. Not ever again.”

“What if,” Louis says, the cogs in his brain working furiously, “What if _I_ kissed _you_? Would that be alright?”

Harry stares at him dumbly. “Haven’t you been listening to me?” He asks, clearly befuddled, “We _can’t_ kiss anymore.”

“But I _want_ to kiss you,” Louis whines, becoming a bit petulant, “I - I really - you’re so nice and lovely and perfect and I want to be around you all the time,” Louis blabbers, “I don’t care if it’s - I don’t care, Harry, I just want you to pay attention to me, please, I want to be _kissed_ ,” he says quickly, almost too honest, “Please, please, Harry, I want to stay here with you, I _want_ you, I - ” he’s cut off by Harry crouching down and tugging Louis forward, brushing his lips over Louis’, not quite a kiss but almost there, lingering.

“I shouldn’t,” Harry breathes, sending warm tingles throughout Louis’ body, “I really, _really_ shouldn’t.”

“Please,” Louis whispers, voice raspy, and then Harry _does_ , pressing his lips insistently against Louis’, running his tongue along the seam of his mouth before Louis opens it, allowing Harry’s tongue to slip inside. Louis makes a small noise in the back of his throat, fingers scrambling to hold onto Harry, managing to grab onto the curls at the base of his neck. Harry makes a noise of approval, moving his own hands underneath Louis’ bum to hoist him up and set him on the counter, where Harry steps in between his short legs, never breaking their kiss.

They kiss until Louis is dizzy with it, breathless and panting, his pants going uncomfortably tight. Louis flushes straight down to his chest and grips Harry’s shoulders until Harry gets the hint and steps back, a string of spit trailing from their mouths and breaking in the middle. Harry chuckles, reaching to wipe Louis’ chin, making the boy squirm.

“Okay?” He asks, voice rumbling in his chest, the way Louis likes it best.

“Y-Yeah,” Louis stammers, blinking to clear the fuzz from his head, “You’re - good. At kissing.” Louis swallows nervously, swearing that his cheeks go even hotter when Harry throws his head back in a loud laugh. Louis doesn’t understand what’s so funny about that, but doesn’t dare question Harry, lest he decide he doesn’t actually like kissing Louis after all. When Harry meets his gaze again, his eyes are warm, lips quirked upwards into a fond smile.

“You’re quite adorable,” he says lowly, pressing forward to kiss Louis once more, this time a mere peck on the side of his mouth, “Don’t know half the things I want to do with you,” he adds in a murmur, sending shivers down Louis’ arms, makes his wings quiver until glitter is drifting off of them and onto the countertop.

*

It stays pretty tame for a while, things slipping back into normalcy in Harry’s little cottage. Louis flutters about in the backyard while Harry works, and they come together for meals and quality time when Harry needs a break. Harry doesn’t seem scared to cuddle with Louis anymore, goes back to sleeping in the same bed without a care in the world, and Louis _loves_ it, preens under Harry’s newfound attention, always asking for a kiss or a snuggle or a piggyback ride, pleasantly surprised when Harry agrees with an easygoing smile.

It begins raining on Monday and still hasn’t stopped at Thursday, however, and Louis has grown antsy, anxious to go back outside and burn off all of his energy. Harry has asked him not to run around in the house, especially when he’s working, but Louis is fidgety all the time, now, itching to escape the confines of the cottage and play in the garden.

Harry glances up from his work to cast a look to Louis, who is patting his leg like a drum and staring out of the window at the falling rain. Louis meets his gaze and smiles at him, glowing under Harry’s gaze, and wilts a little when Harry merely returns the gesture and gets back to work, bent over the table and typing away. Louis lets out a deep breath, looking around for something to do, before giving up and meandering over to Harry, standing awkwardly to the side of him as he waits for his attention.

Eventually, Harry looks up at him, eyes warm. “Yeah, Lou?” He asks kindly, reaching out to run his fingers over Louis’ jaw simply because he can.

“Can you take a break?” Louis asks, blue eyes wide and hopeful, “I want to kiss.”

Harry laughs suddenly but it’s a fond sound, so Louis doesn’t really mind. Even so, Louis pouts at him and Harry runs his fingertip over his lips, adjusting them into a smile despite Louis’ attempts at keeping a straight face. Humoring him, Harry leans forward and kisses Louis’ bottom lip and then his top, sucking it into his mouth for a brief moment before leaning back, grinning. Louis raises an expectant brow, earning another chuckle from the older of the two.

“Insatiable,” Harry murmurs, pressing forward once more, curling his fingers around the back of Louis’ neck and dragging him closer, _closer_ , until Louis gets the hint a swings a leg over Harry’s thighs, straddling him on his lap, “Good boy,” Harry rumbles, and Louis whimpers at the praise, letting his small hands rest on Harry’s chest.

Harry’s hands travel down his back and rest at his hips, fingers teasing the stripe of skin under his rucked-up tunic, pressing into his skin too lightly to bruise. Louis is torn between leaning into the touch and staying close enough for Harry to lick into his mouth, but Harry tugs him forward until their hips are nearly aligned, and Louis can feel the hard press of Harry’s cock on the backs of thighs. Louis shudders into their kiss and he feels Harry smile against his lips, pulling back briefly and running one hand up and down Louis’ thigh.

“Can I - I want to touch you,” Harry murmurs, voice husky, and Louis flushes a deep red, mewling low in his throat, “Can I touch you?” Harry asks softly, thumb brushing the inside of Louis’ thigh, _so close_ to his -

“I, I dunno,” Louis responds breathlessly, eyelashes fluttering as Harry presses kisses down the side of his neck, “I - I want to, I do, but - ” Louis lets out a long whine when Harry squeezes his thigh, hand big enough to cover most of it, but manages to whimper, “‘m not ready,” so quietly that it’s as if it’s a secret.

“Okay,” Harry agrees, fitting the hand on Louis’ thigh into the small of his back, instead, “That’s alright, you’re okay,” Harry says reassuringly, leaning up to pepper kisses over Louis’ heated face, “Don’t be embarrassed, love, it’s alright,” Harry continues, kissing the tip of Louis’ nose and causing him to giggle despite himself. “There we go. You have a lovely smile, Louis,” Harry tells him, and Louis preens under his praise, admiration clear on his face.

“Thank you,” Louis says shyly, earning a sweet chuckle from Harry.

“Stop distracting me, you menace,” Harry finally says through a grin, after they’ve kissed a few more times, “‘m not gonna get any work done.” Louis whines a little but shuffles off of Harry’s lap, stealing one more kiss as he drops to his feet next to him. “I’ll make dinner in a bit, alright?” Harry says, ruffling Louis’ hair, “Can you be quiet for a bit longer?”

Louis nods obediently, grinning. Harry, unable to stop himself, leans forward and fits their lips together for a final time. “Distracting,” he adds afterwards, shaking his head fondly, returning to work.

*

The rain stops the next day, and Louis is more than happy to go outside for a bit while Harry works. He wanders about the garden, humming songs to himself, admiring the petals of the flowers, and yelps when he’s grabbed from behind and spun around and then set back down. Louis turns to see Harry there and completely lights up, bouncing on his toes.

“Harry! What’re you doing out here?” He asks excitedly, “I thought you were working!” He’s being loud, but he doesn’t care; he’s outside, where he _can_ be loud, and Harry doesn’t seem to mind, anyways, since he’s laughing, the barking one where he throws his head back and then slaps a hand over his mouth to stop.

“Figured I’d take a break,” he finally answers, reaching down to pinch Louis’ cheek jokingly between his fingers, “Wanted to come see you.”

“You did?” Louis asks, unable to stop himself from beaming, eyes bright. His wings flutter and fairy dust spills onto the ground, but it’s alright, since Harry won’t have to clean it up.

“‘Course I did,” Harry responds, leaning down to kiss the top of Louis’ head, who swears he feels himself glowing brighter under his touch, “What are you doing?”

“I dunno,” Louis responds noncommittally, shrugging his shoulders, “I just - I like it out here.” He grins up at Harry, eyes crinkling, “D’you want to play?”

Harry ponders over this for a moment, eventually nodding. “Sure. What game?”

“I dunno,” Louis says again, giggling, “What games do you know?”

“I know one...” Harry says, voice lowering as he takes a slow step towards Louis, who raises an amused brow, “Want to know what it’s called?” Harry asks, and Louis nods, wings fluttering. “C’mere, then,” Harry says, beckoning Louis to him with his finger. When Louis doesn’t immediately move, Harry sighs in faux exasperation. “I have to whisper it to you. It’s part of the game.”

Louis isn’t sure what kind of game this will be, but he moves forward, anyways, figuring that if it’s Harry’s game, it can’t possibly be too bad. Harry crouches down and beckons for Louis to come even closer. Louis, bemused but curious, leans towards him, tilting his head so Harry can whisper in his ear. Harry’s hands come to rest on Louis’ waist, and his lips brush his ear.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets his lips linger there, and then he’s jerking his head away and screaming, “Tickle monster!” at the sky, fingertips moving over Louis’ waist quickly. Louis squirms in his grasp, laughing despite himself as he tries to get away, but Harry is much stronger and manages to pin him down pretty quickly, running his fingers up and down his sides while Louis wiggles underneath him, breathless with laughter.

“Harry!” He cries through his giggles, squeezing his arms to his sides when Harry tries to tickle his armpits, “Harry, stop!”

“Sorry,” Harry responds, continuing, “The tickle monster is completely uncontrollable.”

Louis kicks his feet, crying out with something between glee and sufferance, and squirms under Harry’s ministrations, fairy dust swirling in the air and coating the ground, “Harry!” he gasps, laughing, “Harry, please! I give, you win!” He cries, chuckles dying down when Harry slows his fingers and then completely stops, both of them panting with the remnants of laughter, smiles on their lips.

Louis honestly isn’t expecting it when Harry leans over him on the ground and kisses him square on the mouth, one of his large hands resting over Louis’ stomach, but he definitely doesn’t mind, immediately responding to the kiss and wrapping his own arms around Harry’s neck. Harry breathes a laugh into Louis’ mouth, adjusting himself so that his knee is pressed between Louis’ thighs, close to his cock but not quite touching him there. Louis doesn’t realize how much he needs it until Harry’s hand skirts down his stomach and brushes over him, making Louis gasp into Harry’s mouth, his bones turning to putty.

“Harry,” Louis keens, voice not quite there, “God, _Harry_ ,” he says again, needier. He tugs at Harry’s curls, shifting his hips down so that his cock brushes against Harry’s knee, and he shudders, almost wiggling away from the pressure when Harry pushes forward, leg pressing against him and making him whine low in his throat.

“Come here,” Harry mutters against his lips, curling his arms around Louis’ and hoisting him up. Louis stands on shaking legs until Harry lifts him into his arms, wrapping Louis’ legs around his waist. He leads them back into the cottage, Harry too focused to kiss, and when they reach Harry’s room Louis is dropped onto the bed while Harry takes a step back, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall off of his broad shoulders. Louis’ mouth goes dry at the sight of Harry’s chest, pale in contrast to Louis’ glowing skin, but lovely all the same, and is almost too eager to touch when Harry comes close enough, laughing against Louis’ lips when his hands run along his pectorals and down his abdomen. “Can I?” Harry asks, voice in his throat as he pushes Louis back on the bed and holds himself over him, shadowing him.

“Yeah,” Louis responds belatedly, at first unsure of what he’s asking, “Yeah, _yeah_ , please.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, making sure. His hand trails down Louis’ waist and runs over the outside of his thigh before he dips his thumb underneath the waistband of Louis’ pants, running along the sensitive skin.

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis gasps out, unable to stop his hips from bucking towards the touch; he’s vaguely aware that the excitement thrumming through his veins is coating the sheets in glitter, but he can’t help himself - he wants Harry to touch him, and he wants to touch Harry, so much that he thinks he’s going to die if he doesn’t do it soon.

Harry leans up to capture Louis’ lips in a kiss, keeping himself upright with one hand and using the other to slip under his tunic and tug at the waistband of his pants. “Up,” Harry breathes into Louis’ mouth, and Louis complies, lifting his hips so that Harry can tug his briefs down his thighs and then off onto the floor, “Yeah?” He says again, fingertips skirting just centimeters away from where Louis needs them.

“ _Please_ , Harry,” Louis whines, “Please, please, touch me, please - _oh_ ,” Louis nearly chokes on his own breath when Harry’s fingers circle around his prick and jerk upwards, once, lightly because it’s a bit rough. Louis wriggles underneath him, panting against his mouth, “Harry, Harry, Harry,” he chants, breathless.

Harry silences him by slipping his tongue into his mouth, running it along the backs of his teeth before pulling away and lifting his hand from Louis to his own mouth, licking over his palm and coating it in spit before bringing it between them once more, this time gripping Louis’ cock more firmly, stroking him a few times more, easier, now, with their makeshift lubricant.

Louis squirms underneath him, clutching at his curls and then his shoulders, unable to stop himself from moving his hips with Harry’s movements. Harry kisses down his neck and licks his way back up, grinning against Louis’ jaw when Louis lets out a cry and wriggles underneath him, the pleasure almost too much for him. “You’re so gorgeous like this, Lou,” Harry murmurs into his ear, and Louis bucks into his hand, gasping out his name over and over again, a broken record. One of Louis’ hands drops from Harry’s shoulder and fists into the sheets, his movements jostling the bed, “God, so needy for it, Lou, I love it,” Harry says, twisting his wrist on the upstroke, earning a moan.

Louis squeezes his eyes closed, unable to stop himself from writhing beneath Harry; it might be embarrassing if Harry wasn’t so sweet about it, so encouraging, and Louis squirms to Harry’s voice, his cock giving a very interested twitch every time Harry speaks. Harry’s hand is nice, too, lovely and big, jerking him easily. Louis’ toes curl and he ruts his hips into Harry’s fist, flailing against the bed because of how _good_ it all feels.

He’s acutely aware of the glitter surrounding them, collecting in the air, but Louis couldn’t stay still if he tried, couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to. He’s so close, a heat building in the pit of his stomach, warm and tingly and lovely. Louis gasps out Harry’s name again, going stock-still as he comes over Harry’s fingers, pulsing in Harry’s fist, and Harry strokes him through it, leaving open mouthed kisses on his neck and collarbones, not stopping until Louis is grasping for his hand, too sensitive from coming to tell him to stop.

“Alright?” Harry asks, breathless, hips pressed against Louis’ side, where Louis can feel him still hard in his trousers. He’s moving his hips in little circles, rutting into his thigh, and once Louis relinquishes Harry's hand he’s snaking it into his pants and gripping his own cock, fisting it only a few times before he’s coming, too, some of it splashing against Louis’ skin. “Fuck,” he curses, panting into Louis’ neck, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he says, causing Louis to flush all the way down to his toes.

They lay in silence for a few moments before Harry gathers enough energy to roll from the bed and pad into the hall bathroom, returning with a flannel that he uses to clean them both. Louis blinks sleepily, smiling up at Harry when he leans down and presses a kiss to his lip, lingering for a moment. “Good?” Harry asks, eyes soft. Louis can only nod, feeling fuzzy all over, sated. “Good.” Harry pauses, glancing over the sheets, “You’ve gotten glitter _everywhere_ ,” he informs him laughingly.

“Can’t help it,” Louis mumbles, eyelashes fluttering as he tries to keep himself awake.

“You fairies and your fairy dust, I swear,” Harry jokes, slipping into the bed next to Louis and tugging him close. Louis lets out a contented sigh and curls into him, tucking his head under Harry’s chin. Harry presses a kiss to the spot of Louis’ hair he can reach without moving too much, and then settles around Louis with an arm around his waist, keeping him pressed against him.

They sleep soundly.


End file.
